Chapter 10
DESI
He tastes like beer and sex and urgency.
And he looks like how I feel. Tired. Horny. Lost in a sea of wanting to forget. Desperate for the human connection we can each bring the other.
Those were my first and only thoughts when his lips met mine and began their exquisite assault on my senses.
There was no softness, no tenderness—just stripped-down necessity in that first kiss.
And the one that followed after that. And the one that is still ongoing as his hands begin to roam up and down the curves of my body.
There is no hesitation as they slide beneath the hem of my tank, igniting my skin with the soft scrape of his fingertips against my lower back.
My hands find him too. Up the ridged plane of his chest. Over the strong muscles in his shoulders. To the back of his neck where I thread my fingers through his hair and urge him closer so I can show him how much I want him.
But nothing our hands can do at this moment rivals the conviction of our kiss. He’s a mixture of raw need and desperate desire, and I try to match him kiss for kiss—lick for lick—nip for nip—each touch feeding our urgency to take more from the other. To demand more from the other.
We are chaos as we bump into the wall at my back. All hands and lips and groans and moans, but when he presses my body there, when his hardened dick taunts me in the most deliciously torturous of ways, I know if he’s not going to speed up the process, I sure as hell am.
My hand is back on his cock. It slips beneath his waistband, down past the bristle of hair, and wraps around the smooth, cool hardness of his dick. His body stiffens and he groans against my lips as my fingers play over his length.
Everything about the moment—the feel of him, the sound of him, the air around us that smells one hundred percent of him—only serves to deepen my desire.
And that means I want him now.
I don’t want to think about the flutter or the swoon or how I’ve sworn off men, because right now my body is on fire for his and has thrown caution—that I know will be back shortly—to the wind.
“Reznor,” I murmur against his lips before I rub my thumb over the crest of his cock. I smear precum around as his hand cups my breast and does the same motion over my nipple. “I want—”
He smothers my words with his lips. He silences my request when he touches his tongue against mine. His hands skim down my torso and cuff mine that are pleasuring him.
“No.”
“Rez—”
His chuckle against my lips is laced with so much intention that if I weren’t already aching for him, I definitely would be now. “You’ll get it all right, but like you told me, you only get one chance to make a first impression...and hell if I don’t plan on impressing the hell out of you, Desi.”
My eyes must widen or my body must stiffen or hell if I know, but I only see his eyes daring me to challenge his statement. I only hear our ragged breaths highlighted by raindrops beginning to fall outside.
He wets his lip with his tongue as a ghost of a smile paints his mouth.
“We don’t need this anymore,” he murmurs as he reaches for the hem of my tank top. I raise my arms as he pulls it off. When it clears my face, I love how his eyes widen in pure male appreciation.
“No?”
“No.”
And this time when he steps into me and meets my lips, it’s slow and soft.
Sure there’s hunger beneath the surface, vibrating to show me this tempo is as difficult for him as it is for me.
But while our previous kisses were like a Molotov cocktail thrown at me already on fire, this kiss is like a slow-burning ember that’s just starting to ignite.
My body warms bit by bit, from the center out to my fingers and toes.
With his hands still cuffing my wrists, the focus is solely on our kiss. On the connection of our tongues. On the finesse of his skill.
His lips coax me, brand me, warn me of the promise of what is to come when. I already know without a doubt I’ll take whatever he is going to give me. I’ve not known this sort of...need before. But I want him.
God yes, I want him.
Whereas before I wanted to rip his boxers off and get to the good stuff, the way he’s pouring everything into this kiss—as if this is the end game—makes me want to melt into him and realize that this is the good stuff.
This is...the flutter and the swoon and every damn thing between.
It’s intimate. Reverent. Everything I shy away from and tell myself I don’t ever want.
But damn if it isn’t all-consuming.
Lightning flashes and thunder roars. Enough to shock us apart and snap me from the spell I never agreed to fall under.
Our eyes meet across the darkened room and I see the desperation in his gaze. It looks the way I feel.
“Fuck me, Reznor.”
That chuckle again. The one that feels like it rumbles through me deeper than the thunder does as he loosens the grip on my wrists and slides his hands between my thighs.
I sigh. I step farther apart. I dig my nails into his shoulders as he cups me and runs his finger up and down the length of my slit on the outside of my shorts.
“I never thought you’d ask,” he says, moments before his lips crash back against mine and his fingertip slides beneath the hem of my shorts and finds me wet and wanting and oh-so aroused.
The next few moments feel like the lightning flashing around us. Unpredictable. Energetic. Explosive.
Clothes are removed in the short seconds that our bodies separate before they crash back together again. Stumbling steps are taken down a darkened hallway. His mouth is on mine. His hands are running over me. His body is against mine.
And this is how we fall onto his bed—in a torrent of unsated desire where we can’t get enough. A rush of words falls from our mouths.
Please. Hurry. Yes. You ready? Oh, God.
Then there is nothing but pleasure as Reznor licks his fingers and rubs them up and down the length of me before using the crest of his dick to do the same.
And then with eyes focused between my thighs and his tongue just barely between his lips in concentration, he pushes that glorious cock into me.
All words turn to groans.
All muscles tense and liquify as the pleasure of him sliding across my G-spot hits me.
“Reznor.” It’s a moan. A plea. A thank you.
“God, that feels good.”
I nod—at least I think I do—because I’m too busy absorbing the pleasure assaulting me as he pulls out before taking his time to push back into me.
My hands grip the sheets as he palms my breasts when he starts to move with a bit more force. Driving in, grinding against my pelvis, ever-so-slowly pulling out before starting the frenzied process all over again.
The pace picks up. Our own panting and the sound of our bodies connecting with each thrust battling for an audience over the thunder.
Right there.
“Feel good?”
Oh yes.
“Jesus, woman.”
He looks incredible as the muscles in his neck strain and his fingers dig into the sides of my hips as he tips my center to meet him with every thrust. A damn Adonis giving me exactly what I need.
And then it hits me.
The Molotov cocktail.
Its impact turning into an out-of-control wildfire.
It eats the oxygen in the room. It pushes and pulls at every part of me until the flames consume me in an explosion of pleasure.
The orgasm washes over me. In a tsunami of sensations. Followed by waves. Then ripples. With his hips stilled, he stares at me and watches me absorb the ecstasy.
Every part of me wants to look away, but hell if those eyes on me only heighten the intensity. It makes me want to show him how good he made me feel.
So I reach between my thighs where he’s still hard and testing all restraint by not moving. I slide my fingers around the portion of him not buried within me.
He groans. His head falls back and his mouth falls lax as I guide him deeper into me before moving my hands to his hips to tell him I’m all his.
With a scrape of my fingers over his torso, his control snaps. His desire to give me what I need met, his own need supersedes all else now.
He slams into me. Harsh and ragged and desperate. His hands on me. His eyes on me. His cock into me.
And within moments, it’s my name that fills the room. It’s his storm that takes over until his tense body relaxes and he drops onto the bed beside me.
Our ragged pants fill the room only to be rivaled with my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Holy shit.” I finally laugh.
“You can say that again.”
We fall into silence, our minds lost to what just happened between us. Mine wondering how I’m going to walk away unscathed, because Reznor Mayne is definitely a man I’d take seconds with.
But then again...I can’t put my finger on it but this feels so very different than anything I’ve had of late. And late meaning in the past year or so...I may like to have my fun, but that doesn’t mean I sleep around.
I hear the raindrops outside for the first time. The tap, tap, tap against the roof overhead through the open windows.
It had to be the eye contact.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Or his need to slow it down and make a first impression.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He reaches over and puts his hand on my waist.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He starts to pull me over to him, and I have a slight panic attack.
I sit up instantly and shove to the end of the bed. “I...uh...I have to go.”
“Desi?”
Without responding, I stand in the darkened room and pretend to look for my clothes on the floor when I damn well know they are in the other room.
It’s easier to look at the floor than him, but it does nothing to distract me from noticing the air smells like rain on the pavement and the sex we just had.
Like us.
I walk out of the bedroom without responding and hate when his feet pad on the floor behind me.
“What’s going through that complicated mind of yours?”
I want you. I only just had you, but it isn’t enough.
I find my shorts and pull them on as my mind frantically tries to shut out the butterflies beginning to dance. I’m not sure if they’re there because I already want him again or because I know I can’t have him.
That’s not how I do things.
This isn’t how I do things.
“Desi?” A little harsher, his sculpted body a silhouette against the sliding glass door at his back.
“I just—I heard the dogs barking. I need to take them out. I need...some of them get scared by thunder and I need to—” I stop, knowing that my excuse sounds just like what it is—an excuse—and yet I don’t do anything to correct it.
“I need to make sure I shut the back door. They’ll run through it.
Escape. I can’t lose dogs I’m supposed to be taking care of. ”
His head is angled to the side as he watches me yank my tank top over my head, but I can’t see his eyes.
Oh, how I want to see his eyes.
His sigh fills the room. “I’ll walk you home—”
“No. It’s fine. I’ll be okay.” That means a kiss goodbye, and I can’t swoon right now when my insides have turned to mush and are already in a puddle at his feet.
It takes a second for me to find my flip flops and without looking his way, I mutter “Good night” like the chicken I am before walking out the door.
The screen door slams behind me as the rain hits me with each step through his backyard and into mine.
I thought I’d be able to breathe once I was outside of his house—when I was away from the scent of us together—and now it feels harder to draw in a breath.
It’s because the sex was good.
At least that’s what I’ll tell myself.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Right up until I jog up onto my own porch, hair and clothes now plastered to my body, and yelp when Reznor’s hand flashes out to my bicep and spins me around.
Without a word, his lips find mine again. He’s instantaneously heat and desire as his tongue touches ever so briefly against mine and my arms fall lax to my side, afraid to betray my mind and grab on to him for one more round right here on the wet patio.
When we break from the kiss and he steps back, his eyes meet mine. He shakes his head ever so slightly. “There. Now you can go. Good night, Desi.”
And it’s only when he turns around to walk away that I realize he’s still buck naked.
And I’m royally screwed.